Black Demon Love Song

I feel a series coming...



Black Demon Love Song

by Jill C.

It's dark. All I can see is dark. It must be night. I feel awake, though. Awake, but tired. My stomach is sick. My head hurts. But I am awake.

James left a long time ago. It feels like forever. Like I hven't seen him in years. Or minutes. It's all the same here.

Here. In the place. I can't bring myself to say it. Hos... Hosp... If I say it, he will be angry.

He has become very strange since James left. Or since I took the little white pill. I don't really know what affects him more. He says strange things. Just words. Just things.

I lay on my stomach on the cot. It smells like laundry soap. Like trying too hard. It's unnatural.

Cold. Dark.

I try to remember what the doc... The man in the white coat said. He said just to stay for a little while. Until I feel better. Until he goes away. Then James can come back.

I close my eyes. Try to sleep. I am a little afraid. Without James to keep the terrors away, I don't know what will happen. I try to focus on James. Only James. Only.

Two little boys squatting on the beach. Poking at a beached starfish with slender driftwood sticks. Dark hair glistening under the late summer sun. Copper skin glowing under a coating of sand and salt.

Riding in an old pickup truck with the windows down. James riding shotgun. Mason behind him. Both put their heads out of the window. They turn and grin at one another. Brothers-not-by-blood. No closer bond.

The grandmother ladeling beans into a huge bowl before the church picnic. James and Mason running around the house. The grandfather loading blankets and folding chairs into the truckbed.

A long time ago...

I turn over onto my side. I am hot and cold and uncomfortable. Whether I have slept or not I can't tell.

James.

He's helping me. I turn my mind back to James. To when we were older. After the grandfather died.

Mason is shivering in bed. James's quiet breathing beside him. Mason pushes against James, hoping to borrow his warmth. James groans in his sleep and wraps his arms around me. Safe. Warm. Protected. Always.

Even when he takes over. Even when Mason is bad. When Mason struck the grandmother. When Mason can't see straight. James is there. James is warm. James is safe.

Tired. Sleep.

A dim grey glow surrounds the door. It must be tomorrow...today. And James is still in yesterday.

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I was kind of thinking of The Outsiders when I was writing Mason and James's relationship. Like how Darry, Soda, and Ponyboy all care for one another because they no longer have parents. Like how Ponyboy and Soda sleep in the same bed to keep the nightmares away.

White Demon Love Song

Actually that is the title of the song to which I am currently listening.... Doesn't really have much to do with the story, but it is still fitting.


White Demon Love Song
by Jill C.


The chair is not comfortable. It's upholstered with beige faux leather that feels more like plastic. It is a horrible color. It looks like the peach crayon that's supposed to be skin -colored, but no one actually has that skin color. Except maybe people in Australia.


What are you doing here? You need to get out.

"Okay."

I stand up. The doors are changing places. The hallway door is simulatneously the door outside, the door to the office, the door to the room with the blood pressure cuff. I've forgotten what I am doing.


"Hey," James whispers next to me. He reaches up and takes my arm. "Sit," he says. I flop back down into the hideous chair. James's chair is blue. Like the choppy sea on a cloudy day. Like the view from the lighthouse at dusk. I lay my head on James's shoulder. He smells good. Like outside. Like pine trees.


You have to get out. You have to before it's too late.

"Okay."


I turn to James. "Can we go?" I ask. "He says to go."


"Shhh," James soothes. He gently presses my head back to his shoulder.


"It might be too late," I whisper. He said it, so it must be true.


"No, it's not," James murmurs into my hair. My horribly greasy too-long hair.


You love him. That's all you need. Leave now.

"Yeah , but he said no."


James knows better than to answer. He knows I'm not talking to him anymore. I wish I was, though.


James's chair is blue. Blue like the sea on a cloudy day. "Can I have the blue chair?"


James smiles a little. He's glad that he and I are seeing the same things. For a moment.


We stand up and trade seats. James's chair is warm. It feels good. It doesn't smell like him, though. It smells like plastic. Like new shoes. I like old shoes better. James has tons of old shoes.


A young woman in scrubs walks past.


She's on their side. She needs to be taken out.


You could do it. You could do it now.


Wrap your hands around her neck. She wouldn't have a chance.


"Are they all bad?"


Yes.


"They'll hurt me?"


Yes.


"No," James says at the same time.


"What to do?"


Wait till you have a chance then squeeze the life out of her./"Wait here with me until they call your name."


His and James's responses get jumbled up, so I can't really hear either one. The only thing I hear is "wait".


"Why," I ask no one.


She'll hurt you. She thinks you're bad. She's writing every bad thing you do in her notebook./"Because you have to wait until the doctor's ready."


"I can't understand when you both talk at the same time."


James does it again. He knows it doesn't work, but he does it again. "Mason," he says, looking directly into my eyes,"It's just me. Just you and me. There is no one else. It's not real."


No, he's wrong. Kill her. Get away. Too late.


"Shut the hell up!" I yell.


"Mason," James soothes, placing a hand on either side of my face,"Mason, calm down."


I try. I honestly do. But a shock runs through my body. My fist flails and catches James on the jaw. His head snaps back and I jump up.


Kill her. Kill her now.


I walk towards her. She is behind the counter now. Writing in her notebook.


Every bad thing you do. She writes it down. She'll use it against you.


I slam my hand down on her notebook. I catch a glimpse of what she wrote. 9:30 appointment: drug consult and therapy Mason is bad he hit James he changed seats he is bad he is bad he is bad heisbadheisbadheisbad...


I touch her arm. Her skin is pale and smooth.


Do it now. No more time. Now.


"I don't want to, damn it!" I yell. But I have already taken hold of her arm.

James's arms are suddenly around my waist. Then we're on the floor. For a second I am dazed and looking at only scuff marks on the grey linoleum. James's gaze catches mine. My eyes pool with tears and I bury my head in his chest. I think of only him. Of his smell. Of his clothes. Of his breath when he sleeps. I clutch him for dear life, not caring that we are lying on the floor. On the floor of the waiting room. The waiting room of the doctor's office. The doctor that finds out if things are wrong with your brain.

They'll tell you your brain is broken. They'll try to control you. You'll be their little robot.
"Shut up."

James pulls me into a sitting position. A group of people enter the room from the door that used to be the outside. Guards, maybe? The pale nurse is standing at the back of the group. I realize that I am in trouble.

Too late now.
"No."

An elderly man kneels next to us.
"Mason?" he asks kindly. He has on a white coat. White like the clouds on a summer day.
James answers for me. I don't really feel up to talking.

"Why don't we take a walk outside and have a smoke," the man in the white coat says, "Then maybe we can talk a little."

James pulls me up to my feet. He keeps a hand on my shoulder as we walk out the door to outside that used to be to the hallway.

I try very hard to sort out what has happened. I can't remember where we are or why we are there. But the pale hand under mine stands out.

"Did I hurt her?" I ask James.

"No," he answers.

"Was I going to?"

"Were you?" he questions softly.

I feel sick. James is supporting me. He holds my shoulders until I can become fully upright again.

We walk to a bench and sit down. The bench is wooden and sunbleached. Just like it should be. James lights a cigarette and hands it to me. I inhale deeply, already beginning to calm down. The plastic wrap is falling away and I can see what is really happening, if only for a moment. I need help. I need this doctor. This kind, elderly doctor sitting on the other side of James. I need him because my brain is broken.

I need to know something else, though.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask tentitavely.

"No. Nothing you do could ever hurt me," James replies.

"Why? I hurt everyone."

"But, no matter what happens, I love you."

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Diagnosis will be paranoid schizophrenia, in case you want to know.

Kinda Donnie Darko, isnt it?

On My Own

Is it still a songfic if it's not fanfiction???



On My Own

by Jill C.


On my own
pretending he's beside me
all alone
I walk with him till morning
without him
I feel his arms around me
and all I see is him and me
forever and forever

--from Les Miserables



On my own. I had been my whole life. Marrying Anthony was supposed to make me feel less alone. But now I was more alone than ever.

I sat on the bench at the bus stop and clutched my churning stomach. I was more emotional than sick now, but the terrible feeling was the same.

Dusk was falling. The street lamp to my left flickered on and cast its shuddering glow over the deserted street. A moment later, the hospital's emergency sign lit itself, casting angry crimson across the cityscape. Even though the hospital was a full block away, I felt like its light was swallowing me. As the building's interior had already swallowed me.


Anthony had wanted to marry me. And I had wanted him even more. He was the sort of man I had always dreamed of, the sort of man that would sweep me up and carry me away. And he had carried me away. Away from life. And prejudice. And loudly protesting parents.

"You cannot marry him!" my mother had shouted at me. "He is not Japanese; he is not Buddhist!"

I could almost hear Anthony's obstacles as they were shouted out. "She's not Catholic! She's a Heathen!"

Nothing could stop our love, though. Early one Saturday, Tony showed up on my doorstep, slid a ring onto my finger, and drove me downtown to our new apartment.


I pulled my arms tighter around my aching stomach, hoping for, then against the arrival of the bus. I wanted to go home after sitting in the emergency room for so long. I twisted my right hand in the fabric of my blouse and felt again the pang of no ring twisting around my finger.


He took it away. He took it all away. His shallowness, his misunderstanding, had taken it all away. It started the day I woke up sick. I hadn't been feeling well for a while, but I had attributed it to the stress of leaving my parents. I sat on the bathroom floor retching, waiting for Tony to come help me, for him to comfort me. I was sick again and again, and I waited for him to come.


I pulled my knees to my chest and curled into a ball on the bench. I imagined Anthony's arms around my shoulders, his warm breath murmuring my name into my hair.

"Keiko," he would whisper. Then he would go on in his broken Japanese, sighing, "I love you, I love you forever," over and over.


When Anthony finally came, he was angry. I stood hunched over the sink swilling out my mouth. He came over and wrapped his arms around my waist. I thought he was comforting, but then he laid his hands on my lightly puffy stomach and growled, "You're pregnant."


"No," I choked. I was a virgin. Tony and I hadn't been together yet. He was a devout enough Catholic to insist on waiting.


"You little slut," he hissed, "No wonder you wanted to get married; you wanted me to cover up your little mistake, huh?"

"No, Tony, no," I gasped, "no."

"Such a slut," he spat. Anthony left the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

I pressed my forehead harder into my knees as the tears began to leak from the corners of my eyes. My imagined Tony began to dissolve, the warmth of his arms slowly fading from around my trembling shoulders.

"No, Tony, please, no," I whimpered. I wasn't sure if I was still trying to prove him wrong or if I was asking him to stay.


Anthony left. He pulled the ring off of my finger and left. The phone rang off the hook. My parents yelling at me, Tony's parents yelling at him. My head was too foggy to care. I was even sicker now. I had been steadily gaining weight before, but now my stomach pulled inwards, going from slightly convex to quite concave in just a few days. Bruises bloomed on my arms, and I could hardly keep any food down. I was desperate and alone.


The bus finally arrived, casting its grainy headlight glow over my pitiful form. I struggled to my feet and climbed the few steps to the bus's interior. I took the first empty seat and leaned my slightly clammy forehead against the window.

Leukemia. The tests had said leukemia. I needed medicine. And surgery. And money. And a home. With a family. But I was on my own.

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And that's that!! I think it's a little on the cliche side, but I suppose it works. Opinions, please?